


The Order of Things

by HootieMcBoobs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fuck Or Die, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HootieMcBoobs/pseuds/HootieMcBoobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poisonous berry. A preposterous cure. </p><p>A decidedly unscientific result.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/><i>“No, no wait,” Hermione said suddenly, jumping to her feet. “No, forget it. I can't - ” She'd rather die. That was all there was to it.</i></p><p>
  <i>“Miss Granger, sit down!” McGonagall barked and Hermione immediately dropped back into her chair.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“As I was saying,” McGonagall went on, “the only cure is copulation with a pureblood wizard.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What?” Ron said, frowning.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Copulation, Mister Weasley,” said McGonagall patiently. “Intercourse.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“So...” Ron said, looking between Hermione and McGonagall, “so... we have to... shag?”</i>
</p><p><i>Hermione buried her face in her hands, wishing for all the world that she knew a spell that would open up a giant pit in the earth that would swallow her whole. </i><br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Order of Things

Despite living in the magical world, Hermione still considered herself a scientific mind. 

Potions, spells, fantastic creatures, they were all very supernatural, yes, but there was still a science behind them, a process, a structure, an order.

A potion needed precise ingredients. A spell needed the right combination of word and gesture. Unicorns and dragons and billywigs could all be studied and classified according to their specific properties. 

There was always hard science behind the glitter and glamour of magic and that was why she loved it so much.

If only everything in life was so neatly ordered. She sighed at looked over at the current object of her consternation, one to whom no amount of study and research and experimentation could solve.

Ronald Bilious Weasley.

Ron was, as usual, paired off with Harry for Herbology and the two of them looked like they were having a perfectly lovely time slacking off and not paying attention to Professor Sprout at all. Also as usual.

Hermione scowled. Ron caught her look and grinned at her, entirely unapologetic. 

It was just to get a rise out of her, she knew it. She and Ron were barely on speaking terms at the moment. She had accidentally spilled her tea on him in the morning, to which he took great - and, she thought, _unwarranted_ \- offense and they had alternated between snarkiness and ignoring each other throughout their morning classes.

He was so infuriating. 

But he was also tall. And his shoulders seem to have gotten so much broader and his red hair seemed even more brilliant than usual. And the mere thought of him made her stomach flip-flop in a way that was most pleasant and most unwelcome because he was her friend. And that was all. And even if she did, in some small way, have feelings for Ron that went beyond friendship, well, he clearly didn't feel the same way so the best plan of action was to just ignore the whole situation and hope that it went away.

Entirely unscientific.

“You ready?” The question from Neville broke her contemplation. He had finished packing up their knapsack and now beamed at her, as eager as she was to begin the lesson. Hermione never minded being paired with Neville for Herbology, he was very adept and knowledgeable when it came to plants. Sometimes, she admitted, maybe even a little better than she was, a fact that irritated her to no end.

“Ready,” she said and followed him out of the greenhouse toward the Forbidden Forest.

“Remember!” Professor Sprout shouted. “It is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Stay within earshot and do not, under any circumstances, touch anything you can not identify or speak to anything that can speak back to you!”

Hermione and Neville worked diligently and effectively, being the first pair to locate a patch of fluxweed and showing it to Professor Sprout, earning five points for Gryffindor. Triumphant, and with lots of time to kill until the end of class, the duo returned to the forest to do some additional poking around. The Forbidden Forest was usually, well, _forbidden_ , so both Hermione and Neville reveled in the chance to do some additional exploration.

She was investigating a particularly interesting green and pink frog when a pair of loud, lumbering footsteps approached behind her.

“Following us?” she said icily without turning around.

“We figured you two would know what you were doing,” Harry said. 

“Find any fluxweed yet?” Ron said.

“We did,” she replied before Neville could pipe in, “and we aren't going to share it with you. Do your own work for once and go find it yourself. If you'd bothered to listen to what Professor Sprout said - ”

“All right, all right, spare us the lecture,” Ron said, waving his hand dismissively. “Let's go, Harry, we'll leave Miss Bossy alone.” They turned and tromped off in the other direction, their loud footsteps scaring off the fascinating frog she had been examining.

“Honestly,” she fumed. Neville looked mildly embarrassed.

Stupid Ron. She pushed idly through a random shrub when a flash of colour caught her eye. Fascinated, she knelt down to look closer.

“I might have found something,” she called over to Neville as she examined the small plant that had caught her eye. “It sort of looks like mistletoe, but with blue berries instead of white.”

“Blue berries?!” Neville exclaimed, poking his head out of an alihotsy shrub with leaves sticking out of his hair. “That must be lapis mistletoe, that's really rare!”

“Lapis mistletoe?” Hermione repeated, irritated that Neville knew something that she didn't.

“Yep,” Neville said, eagerly attempting to fight his way out of the shrub. “I've never seen any in the wild before, I've only ever seen pictures... It has all sorts of alchemical properties. We should pick some for Professor Sprout, there's tons of potions that can use that. Great find, Hermione!” 

Neville's praise mollified her ill-temper, but only slightly. She hadn't read anything about lapis mistletoe in any of her books and would have likely walked right past it if Neville hadn't identified it for her. Still, she had been the one to find it... She bent over for a closer look. It really was quite pretty and if Neville was right about it, there might be some extra points in it for Gryffindor for the discovery. See what Ron would think about _that_...

“The only thing more rare than lapis mistletoe is swartz mistletoe,” Neville said. He had finally freed himself from the brambles of the alihotsy and was making his way toward Hermione where she was crouched down beside the plant. “It has blue berries too, but it has black leaves. Good thing you didn't come across that one though.”

“Why is that?” Hermione said faintly.

“It's poisonous,” Neville said. “Very dangerous stuff. If you so much as touch it, it will drain the life right out of you...”

He paused and his face grew white. No whiter than Hermione's, though, as they both stared at the single sprig of mistletoe, with blue berries and black leaves, that sat in her bare palm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon Neville informing Professor Sprout about Hermione's contact with the berries, the squat little witch had hustled Hermione to the infirmary with a speed that Hermione hadn't thought she was capable of. 

Madam Pomfrey's response had been no less dire than Professor Sprout's. Professor McGonagall had arrived a few moments later, her long robes billowing behind her in her haste, and the three women were now in the midst of a flurried, hushed conversation, along with numerous concerned glances at Hermione.

Hermione knew what Neville had said about the mistletoe but she felt fine, except maybe for the back of her head where there was an odd, persistent itch. She scratched at it idly.

Professor McGonagall was watching her closely. She shared a meaningful glance with Madam Pomfrey, who paled.

“Well that's all the confirmation I need,” Pomfrey said, getting to her feet. “I'll begin making some... arrangements.” She gave Hermione one last sad look before bustling off.

“And I'll go make sure the rest of that mistletoe is safely disposed of,” Professor Sprout said, hurrying after her.

Professor McGonagall, thankfully, had never been one for beating around the bush. “Unfortunate news, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said in a grave voice. Hermione's heart sped up.

“Was Neville right?” she said anxiously. “That plant... is it... poisonous?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Longbottom is correct, it is very deadly. That itch you're feeling at the base of your skull is the first of long and painful list of symptoms.”

“So I'm going to die?” The words squeaked out before she could contain them. It was almost amusing. She'd survived a troll, a Basilisk, countless run-in with Voldemort and it was going to be a plant that finally did her in.

Almost amusing. But not quite.

“No,” McGonagall said. “There is a cure. One hundred percent effective.” 

Hermione felt a great flood of relief rush over her but it was tempered by how tense McGonagall's voice sounded. She was looking at Hermione very gravely.

“But...” Hermione prodded.

McGonagall sat across from her, tenting her fingers and appearing deep in thought. “Miss Granger,” she began carefully, “the swartz mistletoe has a different name, one I'm sure Mr. Longbottom was familiar with but understandably unwilling to share with you.” She hesitated. “It is known as the Maiden's Bane. It is named so because the poisonous properties of the plant only affect certain females of magical blood.” She hesitated again, looking at Hermione over the rim of her square spectacles. “In particular, those who have not had sexual intercourse.”

Hermione could feel the panic rising in her throat. “But that's me!” she said desperately. “So that means I'm going to die? But you said - ”

“I said there was a cure, yes. Even after exposure to the plant, if the witch's virginity is removed from the equation, the venomous effects are completely nullified.”

Hermione's mind raced ahead. “So you're saying if I wasn't a virgin any more, the mistletoe would no longer be dangerous.”

“Yes. If you hurry.”

It finally, truly sank in what McGonagall was saying.

She needed to have sex. 

Right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Professor McGonagall had been talking for several minutes about the hows and the whys of the cure for the swartz mistletoe. The immunity was believed to be passed between the semen and the opening of the cervix, making it not necessarily just the _Maiden's_ Bane. If a woman had only had protected sex, say with a condom, or if they had only had sex with Muggles, they would not have the immunity either because there had been no contact with wizarding sperm. And that's why male wizards weren't affected, of course, because they carry the immunity with them. 

Hermione would have normally found this conversation very interesting, but at the moment all it boiled down to for her was the what.

Sex.

Sex with a male pureblood wizard.

McGonagall had apparently finished her speech because she was looking at Hermione expectantly.

“I'm sorry?” Hermione said, blinking rapidly.

“I was saying,” McGonagall said patiently, “that if you don't wish the male to be someone you know, I'm sure we can find a suitable volunteer - ”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. She would not have her first time be with an anonymous stranger.

“Then do you have someone in mind?” 

She did. God help her, she did. 

There had only been one name in her mind since McGonagall had first explained the situation, one name flashing in her brain like a bright red neon sign. There were other choices, more logical choices, safer choices, blander choices but there had always, only been one. God, who else could it be? 

But she couldn't ask him, she _couldn't_ -

“We are running out of time, Hermione,” McGonagall said, her voice gentler than Hermione had ever heard. 

The name wouldn't come. Her feelings for Ron had been the deepest, most secret of desire of her heart for so long, so carefully guarded and protected, that now she couldn't even speak his name. She looked at McGonagall helplessly, fighting the tears in her eyes.

“Weasley,” McGonagall said.

Hermione stared at her in shock. “How - ”

“I have eyes, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “I've taught the two of you for years.”

Madam Pomfrey came back into the room. “It's ready,” she said apologetically. “Do we have a... volunteer?”

“Ronald Weasley,” McGonagall said. Hermione gave a dull nod.

Pomfrey's eyebrows raised a barely imperceptible level but she gave a quick nod and bustled out of the room again.

“We're barely even speaking to each other right now,” Hermione blurted out.

“That seems par for the course,” McGonagall said dryly. 

They silently made their way into the empty infirmary, McGonagall leading her to the far bed in the back corner, a standard infirmary bed with clean, white sheets. On the bedside table was a small potted plant, Madam Pomfrey's attempt at providing a bit of romance to the sterile setting of the infirmary. Beside the plant was a corked vial containing a reddish liquid.

“It's a contraceptive,” McGonagall said. “You can take it now.” Hermione obediently uncorked the vial and drained the liquid in one long swallow. She felt a brief swirl of nausea in her stomach, then nothing. 

The itch at the back of her head was getting deeper, more insistent. She rubbed at in in frustration.

McGonagall was watching her. “I assure you, if I had even the remotest inkling of another possible solution - ”

The door to the infirmary flew open.

“Hey!” Ron gasped as he bent over with his hand clutched to his side. “Whuzzrong? Pomfrey said...” He stopped, too out of breath to continue.

Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione briefly then, when it was clear that Hermione was not going to respond, cleared her throat. “Miss Granger needs your help.”

“Yeah, anything,” Ron said.

“Hermione has been poisoned,” McGonagall said. “There is no time to get into the details at this point, but the crux of it is the situation is very dire unless we can provide the cure immediately.”

Ron was starting to look very panicked. “Yeah, anything,” he said again, more urgently this time. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

Hermione felt nauseous again, but she doubted it had anything to do with the contraception potion.

“The cure requires - ”

“No, no wait,” Hermione said suddenly, jumping to her feet. “No, forget it. I can't. ” She'd rather die. That was all there was to it.

“Miss Granger, sit down!” McGonagall barked and Hermione immediately dropped back into her chair.

“As I was saying,” McGonagall went on, “the only cure is copulation with a pureblood wizard.”

“What?” Ron said, frowning.

“Copulation, Mister Weasley,” said McGonagall patiently. “Intercourse.”

“So...” Ron said, looking between Hermione and McGonagall, “so... we have to... _shag_?”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, wishing for all the world that she knew a spell that would open up a giant pit in the earth that would swallow her whole.

“Mister Weasley, this is not the time to be crass!” bellowed McGonagall. Ron jumped. 

McGonagall sighed. “But essentially, yes. That would be what is required. As I have told Miss Granger, it is necessary in order to save her life and if there were any alternative - ” 

“I'll do it,” Ron said in a quiet voice. He looked at Hermione for the briefest of moments before his eyes went back to the floor. The tips of his ears were very red but Hermione was certain they were no more red than the skin on her face, which felt practically molten.

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Do you have any diseases, Mr. Weasley?”

“What?” Ron said, looking horrified.

McGonagall looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Sexually transmitted diseases,” she said slowly, as if explaining it to a five-year old. “You will not be able to use any sort of barrier contraceptives so if there is the potential of any disease you might transfer to Miss Granger - ”

“No,” Ron said. “No, I – I've never had sex before either.”

Hermione's head jerked up.

McGonagall looked like she didn't believe a word of it either. “Mister Weasley,” she said in an icy tone, “we all witnessed you carrying on with Miss Brown last year, including one unfortunate instance in a broom closet long after curfew. This is not the time for saving face or covering your behind.”

Ron blushed a furious scarlet. “I know,” he said, “but we never... we didn't...” He looked at Hermione. “We didn't, I swear.”

McGonagall stared hard at him, then relaxed. “Very well,” she said again. “And you, Miss Granger? Any cause for concern?”

Hermione nearly laughed. Her sexual experience wouldn't make a nun blush. “No,” she said. “Nothing.”

“Do I need to go over the mechanics of - ”

“No,” Ron said quickly. “No, I think I've got it.”

“Very well then. We will ensure that you are given the appropriate isolation. Any last questions?”

Hermione tried desperately to think of something, _anything_ , to keep McGonagall in the room, to keep her from being left alone with Ron, but there was nothing. The itch on the back of her head had reached a maddening level.

There was nothing for it. She shook her head at Professor McGonagall, who gave her a sympathetic pat on the should before leaving the room.

That left Hermione with Ron.

Alone.

To have sex.

“So...” Ron said. “Wow.”

She nodded politely.

“You feeling okay?”

“I'm fine right now,” she said, “but we don't really have a lot of time.” 

She stood up and began unbuttoning her robe, willing her fingers not to shake. Ron gaped at her a moment but then slowly started doing the same.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” she said, trying to channel her own steely, clinical Professor McGonagall.

“You're welcome,” Ron said in a strangled voice. 

“You'll need to ejaculate inside me,” Hermione continued, keeping her voice even. “I've already taken care of the contraceptives. We can turn the lights down and you can enter me from behind if you'd prefer, it'll make it easier to pretend I'm someone else.”

Ron looked like he might be sick. “I don't want to - ” he started.

“Neither do I,” she said harshly, the bitter unfairness of the situation finally proving too much to contain. She angrily flung her robe into the chair beside the bed. “Do you think this is what I pictured for my first time? The school infirmary? Being poisoned? Forcing my best friend into it?”

Ron was staring at her, his mouth agape. She turned away from him, humiliated. The itch at the back of her head had grown even more insistent.

“You didn't let me finish,” Ron said quietly. “I was going to say I don't want to pretend you're someone else.”

She turned back to face him, unsure of his meaning.

“Look,” Ron said, looking very flushed. “I know this isn't the best. I know it's probably pretty close to the worst but - ” He paused, struggling with his words. “But it doesn't have to be terrible,” he said finally, moving toward her. He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Well, I can't promise it won't be terrible, but I can... we can _try_.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

He reached a tentative hand out toward her. She didn't move away, and he cupped the side of her face. His skin was hot and his hand was rough, calloused from Quidditch. The friction against the soft skin of her cheek made her shiver.

Ron cautiously stepped closer to her and put his other hand on the other side of her face. Then slowly, _slowly_ , he lowered his face down toward hers. 

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. He was going to kiss her. And that would destroy all of her plans. It was one thing to treat this ridiculous, impossible scenario as a cure, a perfunctory exchange of bodily fluids that would save her life. _That_ she could deal with. After all, as McGonagall said, there was no alternative and she had only chosen Ron because he was a Pureblood and her friend, he was unattached and she could trust him to be discrete and not blab it all over school. If she told herself that enough times, she was sure she would start to believe it. Eventually.

But if lips got involved it was going to be impossible for her to pretend it was something other than sex - sex with _Ron_ , no less - and that might very well kill her. That would turn it from something she absolutely _had_ to do into something that she maybe didn't mind doing, maybe even something that she sort of _wanted_ to do, something that had already caused her more than a few sleepless nights when she fantasized about doing exactly what she was about to do with who she was about to do it with.

Ron's face was still moving toward her in slow motion. His eyes were closed. She could smell him, the same smell that permeated her Amortentia potion.

Sod it.

She lifted her chin and met his lips with hers. It was a little awkward at first, the height difference was difficult to compensate for, but then she shifted and he ducked his head and -

It was _perfection_. Flawless, toe-curling perfection. She sighed against his mouth, fighting off the urge to do something very un-Hermione-ish like swoon into his arms. She had dreamed of this moment for years now, had wanted him for so long...

They pulled away from each other, both slightly breathless. Hermione lifted her arms and Ron flinched, like she might strike him, but she only curled her hands over his forearms.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Let's try.” She rose on her toes and kissed him again, more insistent this time. His lips parted beneath hers and she eagerly took advantage, sweeping her tongue into his mouth. He responded just as eagerly, bending her backward with the force of his reciprocation.

She pulled up all her Gryffindor courage and let her hands run everywhere. Up under his shirt to feel the muscles of his back, down his biceps and his majestic forearms, up into his fiery hair. He had always had such a great bum so she went for that too, sliding her hands down the back of his pants and squeezing with both hands. Ron jumped and squeaked like a little girl, but then repaid her in kind, his large, warm hands massaging her bare skin, further heating her.

She needed more of him so she fisted her hands in his t-shirt, helping him pull it over his head and tossing it off to the side. She hungrily let her eyes rake over his torso, her senses overloaded by so much of his bare skin so close to her. He was skinny, she could see almost every one of his ribs and his stomach was practically concave, but he had some nice muscles across his chest and shoulders – from Quidditch, she assumed – and it made him look very grown up. A man now, not a boy.

Her shirt went next with little preamble, tossed to the side and quickly forgotten.

They fumbled with each other's belt between frantic kisses. He had hers undone first – when had he gotten so good at multitasking? – and unceremoniously shoved her pants down to ground. Still trying not to break the kiss, she awkwardly stepped out of them, finally managing to kick them free.

His ruddy belt would just not come undone despite all her efforts. With a shriek of frustration she tore her mouth away from him, trying to concentrate but Ron just started kissing and sucking on her neck in a way that made her eyes flutter closed and that just didn't help matters at all. Finally, the bloody belt unlocked and she triumphantly pushed his trousers down to the floor.

She was entirely unsurprised to see he was wearing a pair of bright orange Chudley Cannons underpants. He had to release her, cursing and hopping around on one leg as he tried to kick his pants loose from his ankles.

With Ron occupied, she took the opportunity to lay back on the bed, trying to strike an alluring pose.

It seemed to work. When he caught sight of her, Ron went dead still, his hand pressed over his heart. Then suddenly he was in motion again, leaping onto the bed and straddling her legs, propping himself up on his hands above her.

She hadn't shaved her legs or armpits – having sex had not been on her itinerary at the start of the day – but Ron didn't seem to notice and even if he had, it hadn't seemed to damper his enthusiasm given the considerable bulge at the front of his shorts.

A bulge. She gaped at it.

Ron was hard.

Ron was hard because of _her_.

Ron was hard because of her and oh God, she was about to have sex. With Ron. In the infirmary at school. Or she would die.

The ridiculous absurdity of the whole situation finally sank in and she started to laugh helplessly. 

“Eh?” Ron said, looking panicked. When she just laughed harder in reply, he sat back on his heels and awkwardly tried to cover his chest with his hands, a wounded expression on his face.

“No, it's not you,” she said, quickly pulling herself together and sitting up. “It's not you, you're perfect.” It wasn't a lie. She pried his hands away from his chest and pressed her mouth against him, swirling her tongue over his skin.

Ron let her do this for a few moments, his fingers clenching her shoulders, then gently pushed her back down onto the bed. “Roll over,” he said in a husky voice. “Just trust me,” he added, in response to her puzzled look.

She did trust him, so she rolled over onto her stomach. He straddled her legs and she could feel his hardness through his shorts, trailing over her thighs as he bent to kiss around her back and shoulders. The slight scruffiness of his face on the sensitive skin of her back made her gasp. As he unsnapped her bra she felt his erection drag over her thighs again and let out a whimper. She propped herself up and awkwardly shimmied her way out of the bra, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

He flipped her over onto her back. She was immediately self-conscious about her naked chest but there was such hunger on his face it was quickly forgotten. His dropped his face to her breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth and she gasped and clutched at his hair. She arched her body against him and he obliged her, sucking more of her sensitive skin into his mouth and covering her other breast with his hand, kneading it restlessly. She could hear herself babbling incoherently and fought to stop, but then his mouth would move, shift positions, and she would find herself losing control again. He kissed around the bottom of her breast, and she tugged impatiently at his hair to guide him back to her nipple, without really realizing what she was doing. She felt him laughing and was about to apologize but then his mouth was clamped over her nipple and his tongue was flicking back and forth, and lucid speech was beyond her. 

He broke away from her breasts and put his hands under her bum, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underpants. She lifted her hips off the bed and, after a couple tries, Ron pulled her underwear down over her legs. 

She was entirely naked now and she couldn't have blamed Ron in the slightest for being so paranoid when he thought she was laughing at him because right now she was more self-conscious than she'd ever been in her life. She fought the urge to cover herself up or to charm out the lights, something, anything, to hide herself from his reaction.

Except there hadn't been a reaction. Ron had not said a word since she had stripped down.

“Ron?” she said, looking up at him in confusion. He was staring down at her, muttering something to himself and flexing his fingers. A flush had spread from his face down over his neck and chest and his hair was mused in a way Hermione found very attractive even in her already lust-addled state.

“Right,” Ron said firmly, as if he had just come to an important decision. “Right, I'm going to try this.”

“Try what?” she said. “Ron, what are you ta- oh!” He had dropped his hand between her legs, stroking her most sensitive skin. She writhed, her hips jerking up instinctively.

“Good?” Ron said hopefully.

“Again,” she breathed. “Do it again.”

His fingers traced over her again, longer this time, building a tentative pattern. She ground herself against him. Ron's fingers fumbled over her briefly before regaining their rhythm.

One of his fingers circled her entrance, lightly dipping inside her. She pushed her head back against the pillow and arched against his hand. “You're wet,” he said wonderingly, examining his fingertip.

“Ron,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“Right, right,” he said. He put one of his fingers against her and moved it in a slow circle, watching her face closely. She swore and Ron gaped at her. He moved his fingers a little faster and she whimpered again, bucking her hips toward him, trying to manoeuvre his hand to the right spot. 

He seemed to sense her frustration. “Help me,” he said. “Show me.”

She grabbed his wrist, shifting his position slightly. It sent fresh sparks through her. “There,” she gasped. “Right there.” She moved his hand, showing him how, but when she released him he seemed unsure of what to do again. She clutched at the bed sheets and subconsciously moved her hips to match the rhythm of his finger. She was so close, it was _right there_ , but her release seemed to be just out of her reach. It felt good, so good, but just not enough. 

Ron bent down, replacing his finger with his tongue before she could realize what he was doing. She gave a strangled cry and laced her fingers into his hair, pressing him to her. “Harder,” she panted. He complied, swirling his tongue over her in a quickening rhythm. The pleasant, tight feeling in her belly continued to build as he moved his tongue harder and faster. She heard herself making quick, high-pitched noises that she couldn't control as the pressure inside her built to an impossible level and she thrust her hips up against his face, hoping to push herself over the edge. Then he ran a fingertip around her entrance again and the world exploded. She choked out his name, shuddering, her hips bucking of their own accord, unable to breath, unable to think. When the last spasm had left her, she released him, putting her hands over her face and struggling to catch her breath.

“Wow,” Ron said, sounding dumbfounded. “Did you just - ? Shit, did I - ” 

“Yes, I did,” she said, her face burning. “And yes, you did, and it was – incredible. ” She peeked out at him between her fingers. He grinned at her and kissed his way up her stomach, between her breast and up her neck before settling on her mouth again. There was a faint taste on his lips that she realized must be herself and she sucked curiously on his lower lip, surprised at how much she enjoyed it.

Ron groaned and his erection nudged against her thigh again, reminding her there was still more to experience.

“So, uh, now you, I guess,” she said.

He stood up, hooking his thumbs into his underpants and pulled them down. Modesty made her tear her eyes away at first, but curiosity quickly pulled them back.

He was certainly hard, his erection straining toward her at a 45 degree angle. His penis looked large though he was not, she was relieved to note, as large as the men in that ridiculous naked magazine that Lavender had (and that Hermione had only peeked at once. For _research_ ). 

“Ron,” she sighed and reached toward him. He groaned as her fingers traced his hot skin and his penis twitched unexpectedly against her hand, making her flinch. Ron gave a breathy laugh but didn't move away. Feeling emboldened, she reached out again, this time wrapping her fingers around his entire girth and squeezing gently. Ron let out a low moan, the sound of it making her insides tighten all over again. She pumped her hand up and down experimentally, gauging his reaction. His legs actually buckled a bit before he grabbed her wrist to stay her hand.

“Better not,” he said through clenched teeth and she felt a surge of power.

She fell back on the bed again, opening her legs for him. He knelt between her thighs, resting his hands on her knees.

“Just remember that ejaculation is required, not just penetration,” she said nervously. “It is believed that there is some interaction between the semen and the base of the cervix that provides the immunity.”

“Always so scientific,” Ron said. She looked up at him, sure he was making fun of her, but Ron just grinned at her fondly and kissed the tip of her nose.

She put one arm around his neck and reached down with her other hand to guide him against her. She was wet and so was he, moisture pooling at the tip of his penis. Her breath hitched as the head of his penis slid over her still-sensitive clitoris, sparking the nerves there. It felt so sharp but so good so she did it again, rocking her hips again him.

“Better not,” Ron said again in an even tenser voice.

She gave a breathless laugh and guided him lower, down to the center of her. When he was settled against her entrance she put her other hand around his neck and nodded up at him.

Ron bent to kiss her again, then pushed against her, a look of supreme concentration on his face. He slid into her slowly and she recoiled against the sudden pain, a burning feeling of tightness and pressure that made tears spring into her eyes. She tried to relax her body, knowing her tension was probably making it worse, but it _hurt_ and she couldn't focus on anything else.

Ron pushed deeper into her and she gripped his shoulders and winced. Ron looked up sharply. A horrified expression came over his face and he moved to pull away from her. She caught him under the arms and clamped her thighs around him, holding him in place.

“I'm hurting you,” he whispered, trying to pull back again.

“No,” she said quickly. “No, don't. It's not that bad. Just stay still for a minute.”

Ron froze, an anguished expression on his face. He seemed afraid to even breath.

“It's okay,” she said, stroking his hair. “I just need a minute to... get used to things.” He looked at her doubtfully but she was telling the truth. The pain was already starting to lessen as her body adjusted to him. 

“Kiss me?” she said.

He bent his head down obediently, careful not to move the rest of his body, and kissed her softly. She focused on his lips, the feel and the taste of him. She deepened the kiss and ran her fingers into his brilliant hair, things she had wanted to do for years and years. She trailed her tongue along his lower lip then sucked it hard into her mouth, nipping at it lightly with her teeth. Ron sighed and she felt his penis twitch and grow inside her.

She tentatively moved her hips against him. It hurt, but not too much. Ron let out a groan and his eyes appeared to have glazed over again. “It's okay,” she whispered. “I'm okay now, go ahead.”

Ron didn't move. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said. 

“I'm fine,” she said, moving her hips again. “Just go slow.”

Ron dropped his face to her shoulder, she could feel the faint stubble of his cheek against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her legs rose instinctively to cradle his hips. Ron eased in and out of her slowly a few times and they both moaned. It was still uncomfortable, but his movements were measured and careful and as the tension eased from her so did the pain. It was actually beginning to feel... good. Ron lifted himself, propping himself on his hands and she looked up at his face. He was very red, but his expression was one of joyful concentration, as if he watching the Cannons in the championship final. She looked down between their bodies to where they were joined, watching as he disappeared into her over and over. “Ron,” she said in awe. He followed her gaze and groaned, dropping his face to her neck again.

She gripped his back and pushed her hips up experimentally, matching his rhythm. Ron swore into her hair and his hands clutched at her hips tightly. His slow, careful rhythm dissolved into something frantic and furious and she felt her heart race with excitement. He was losing control. She was making him lose control.

“Hermione,” he gasped, “I can't, I can't -”

“Yes,” she said, although he hadn't asked a question. She kissed him around his neck and shoulders, everywhere she could reach. His whole body tensed up and he choked out her name and thrust weakly against her a few more times. Then he collapsed on her with his whole sweaty weight and she found that she loved it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him tightly around his back, cradling him to her. She could feel his panting breath on her neck and his heart, pounding like she had never felt it, beating against her chest. 

She _loved_ it. All of it. She closed her eyes, trying to burn every sense into her memory. The weight of him. The smell of his hair, the taste of his sweaty skin. The noises he made, how he had clutched at her. The look on his face. How he had moved inside her -

Ron swallowed hard and lifted his head. She laughed at his expression, he looked like he had just been hit in the back of a head with Bludger, but had greatly, greatly enjoyed it. He let out a weak laugh of his own, sounding stunned. Gob-smacked, he might say.

He nosed against her cheek like a dog and she gave a breathless laugh, pushing some stray hair back from her sweaty forehead. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed and kissed her passionately, taking what little breath she had left. 

They lay together quietly, breathing in unison, letting their hearts return to normal, until the weight of him was too much and she pushed lightly at his shoulders. She winced slightly as he withdrew, partly from pain and partly from regret that they were no longer joined.

An awkward silence descended over the room as reality set back in. It had been lovely, it had been perfect but it wasn't their passionate first time after some romantic, breathless declaration of love.

They were in the school infirmary. And he'd done it because he had to.

She averted her eyes as he pulled his clothes back on.

“How – how do you feel?” he said in a halting voice.

“Better,” she said. It was true. The maddening itch was gone from the back of her head. It seemed she was cured. “I think it worked.”

They finished dressing in silence. When she finally looked up, Ron was smirking.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing, sorry, sorry,” he said, trying to cover his grin with his hand and maintain a solemn face. He failed miserably.

“Sorry!” he said again in answer to her continued glare. “I know it's inappropriate, but you know, we just... and it was...” He gave up any semblance of seriousness and did an awkward little jig, grinning at her, giddy as a boy on Christmas.

Hermione laughed despite herself. He was adorable. “Well, good,” she said, feeling herself blush. She was strangely flattered and it made her flustered. “It was better than I was expecting as well.”

Ron stopped dancing. “Well that's high praise,” he said, looking very deflated. “Was it that bad for you?”

“No,” she said quickly. She hadn't meant it like that at all. “It did hurt at first but there was nothing you could do about that. Then it got... better. Good. It got good. It was good. And that first thing you did, that was the best thing, well, ever.”

Ron seemed to re-inflate. He pulled his shoulders back and his lips twitched suspiciously. “Well, good,” he said modestly, though Hermione could easily hear the pride and relief in his voice.

“Maybe we should do it again,” he added. He shrugged at her innocently when she glared at him. “What? I just want to make sure you're safe.” 

She tried to keep scowling but found herself giggling instead, like some kind of simpering idiot.

“Seriously though,” he said, “are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she said.

“Are _we_ okay?” Ron said.

She knew exactly what he meant. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we're okay.” She held her arms out and he walked into them immediately. His long arms wrapped around her waist and she felt his face drop into her hair.

She burrowed against his chest. “Thank you,” she said, glad her burning face was hidden from him. “I - I'm glad it was you.”

“I'm glad it was you too,” Ron said slowly. “I just wish it could have been different.”

She puzzled over his words and pulled back slightly to look at him. Ron looked down at her solemnly. His eyes traveled all over her face, his brow furrowed in concentration. She felt self-conscious under his scrutiny and opened her mouth to ask him what he was looking at, then Ron tucked his head and gave her a soft, gentle kiss on the mouth.

It was slow and undemanding, with a sort of sweetness that she hadn't thought Ron capable of. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as a warm, tingling feeling started in her heart and slowly spread throughout her body all the way down to her toes. She kissed him back equally gently, equally slow, trying to preserve the moment because this, finally, what what she had truly always wanted - 

The door at the far end of the infirmary burst open and she could hear Madam Pomfrey's breathless, panicked voice. “Potter, get back here!”

“Hermione! Ron!”

It was Harry. She sprang away from Ron as if she had been zapped by a live current, furiously trying to straighten her clothes.

Harry burst through the curtain followed closely by Madam Pomfrey, who at least had the courtesy to have her hand over her eyes. “I tried to stop him!” the matron said desperately.

“It's okay,” Hermione said. “We're done.”

Pomfrey let out a sigh of relief and took her hand away from her eyes.

“What happened?” Harry demanded. “Neville said you were hurt.” 

“I was,” Hermione said. “But I'm okay now.” 

“What did you need Ron for?” Harry said, looking between them.

“Uh,” said Ron.

“Well,” said Hermione.

“A transfusion,” said Madam Pomfrey helpfully. “She needed a transfusion from a pureblood wizard.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “Just a quick transfusion.”

“Well, not _too_ quick,” Ron grumbled.

“No,” Hermione quickly agreed. “A perfectly reasonable time for a transfusion.”

Harry looked between them, looking more confused than ever. “Well,” he said slowly, “as long as you're okay now.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I'm great.”

“So if you're done meddling,” Pomfrey said to Harry pointedly, “I need to do some last tests on Hermione. Out with the two of you.” She made shooing gestures at Ron and Harry.

Ron looked like he had more he wanted to say to Hermione but he shrugged helplessly.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Not just for saving her life.

“Anytime,” he said, giving her a nod and a shy smile.

As far as near-death experiences went, Hermione thought as she watched his departing back, she'd certainly had worse. It might be a little awkward between them two of them for a bit but they were mature adults, she was certain they would be able to get past it. It didn't have to change anything if they didn't let it.

Things were going to fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things were ruined.

She and Ron could barely look at one another. She felt like her face was in a permanent blush any time she was within a hundred feet of him.

It had been weeks now and they hadn't discussed the events of that night, not even once. Instead the secret hung between them like a thick, suffocating curtain. She could barely even meet his eyes, let alone pretend that their relationship hadn't entirely changed.

They weren't fighting, which some would fathom as a positive thing but to Hermione it was simply terrible. She'd take a good squabble over the maddeningly polite formality with which Ron was treating her. It was like they were strangers.

She wasn't the only one who had noticed. Ginny, Parvati and Lavender, even Luna, for God's sake, had all approached her to ask in whispered tones what was the matter with her and Ron. Apparently they were acting quite odd.

 _Odd_.

Oddly enough, it was the kiss they had shared afterwards that her mind kept returning to the most. The gentle feel of his lips, the way he had looked at her. She was quite certain he had never kissed Lavender like that and _that_ was what kept replaying over and over in her mind, what kept her up at night, what made her stare in frustrated, aching longing at Ron when he wasn't looking.

He couldn't stop looking at her either. She caught him at it all the time and he would always blush furiously and look away, even though she'd caught him dead to rights. His mindset was a little more obvious though, given where his eyes seemed to linger. Her backside, her chest or, like now, her legs. 

This time it was the bit of her knee that stuck out from under her robes that seemed to have transfixed his attention. She sighed and crossed her legs, watching Ron as his eyes followed the edge of her robe to where it now lay across her thigh.

She looked carefully around the classroom. Snape was droning on about the thickening properties of Flobberworm mucus. Beside her, Neville was furiously taking notes in an effort to prevent Snape from picking on him. On Ron's far side, Harry seemed to be mostly asleep.

And Ron was eyeing her legs in a way that made her want to squirm in her seat. 

The kiss was what her mind kept returning to, yes, but the fact that she had had sex with him (very good sex too, for a first time) was never very far behind. The heated way he looked at her brought back all sorts of delicious memories of the weight of his body and the taste of his skin and the feel of his tongue -

She squirmed and her hem rose a little higher up her thigh. She heard Ron suck in a great breath.

She was tired of this. “What are you looking at?” she whispered.

He jumped. “Um, there's something, uh, on your shoe,” he said. The tips of his ears had gone very red. 

She got perverse enjoyment from watching him squirm. “Something on my shoe,” she repeated softly. 

“Right,” Ron said. The red had spread from his ears down to his face and neck. His eyes flicked down to her leg again and he let out a strangled cough and looked quickly away.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Ron cleared his throat. “So what are you thinking about?” he said quietly.

There was no point in lying about it. “Having sex with you,” she said bluntly.

Ron jumped in his seat again, banging his knees against the table and knocking most of their ingredients to the ground. Most of the class, including Professor Snape, turned to glare at him. Hermione met Harry's eyes and grinned, ruefully shaking her head and rolling her eyes while Ron scrambled to put everything back.

The bell rang for dismissal and she quickly got to her feet and exited the class before Ron had a chance to catch up. He had Quidditch practice now, she knew, and she wanted to get a good night of studying in rather than deal with the fallout of what she had confessed. 

Besides, let him chew on it for a few hours.

When she returned from the library later that night, Ron was waiting for her outside the common room. His arms were folded and he looked supremely aggravated. 

She didn't even let him get started. “You asked,” she said and shrugged.

“Yeah but why?” Ron said.

Something in her snapped. “Why not?” she said. “Are you telling me you don't think about it? Are you telling me it hasn't crossed your mind since it happened?”

He blushed a furious red. “I think about it all the time,” Ron said. “I can't stop thinking about it.”

“I've noticed. Are you still pretending you were looking at my shoe in class?”

Ron grinned at her. “No,” he admitted.

“You don't say,” she said sighed. “So what do we do about this?”

“You're asking me?” Ron said. “You're supposed to be the smart one here. What do you want to do?”

It was a childish answer and it infuriated her. She opened her mouth to tell him as much when the more rational part of her mind began picking up on some things. 

The slight hesitation in his voice. The hopeful expression on his face. The tentative step he had taken toward her...

A good scientist spends a lot of time theorizing, researching, analyzing. But a _great_ scientist know when it's time to get down to the experimentation.

So she kissed him. She kissed him until she was out of breath. She kissed him until her lips were numb. She kissed him until she was certain that the point was abundantly clear to him and only then did she let him go.

“There,” she said when she finally released him. “That's what I want to do.”

“Me too,” Ron said and kissed her again, his long arms wrapping tightly around her waist to pull her close. 

When they finally broke apart again, Ron rest his forehead against hers. “I've wanted to do that for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” she sighed. “We've done everything backwards.”

“Maybe we could try that sometime.”

“What?”

“Doing it backwards.”

It took her a second. “ _Ronald_!” She shoved at him as she had hundreds of times in the past except this time, instead of laughing and ducking, he caught her hands and held them tightly against his chest. He kissed each knuckle solemnly. 

“Maybe the order doesn't matter,” Ron said. “Maybe the only thing that matters is the end result.”

Not exactly the scientific method, but a lovely sentiment all the same. And that, she thought as she stretched up to kiss him again, was something her scientific mind could easily get behind.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Upper Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785170) by [HootieMcBoobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HootieMcBoobs/pseuds/HootieMcBoobs)




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